


Emergency Contact

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: (of minor OC character), Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Protectiveness, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: Three times in three weeks Arthur has been summoned to Eames' hospital bedside. Arthur hates being Eames' emergency contact but he refuses to let the other man change it. There is nowhere else Arthur would rather be than at his side when Eames is injured and in trouble.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 136





	Emergency Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://tenyearsofarthurandeames.tumblr.com/post/640232670097539072/emergency-contact). Thank you very much to [tenyearsofarthurandeames](https://tenyearsofarthurandeames.tumblr.com/) for the permission to write a story based on their post :)

"Arthur?"

The tentative whisper of his name roused Arthur from a light doze. He lifted his head from where it had come to rest against the cold white wall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Arthur's eyes stung, his head ached. The clock on the wall said it was nearly 3am, meaning Arthur had only drifted off for about twenty minutes, and that he had gone nearly thirty nine hours without proper sleep. Arthur turned his attention to the hospital bed his chair flanked and the man propped up against three pillows.

"Eames," Arthur acknowledged tiredly.

"You—" Eames broke off, glanced away sharply. "You came."

Arthur sighed, stood from the hard plastic chair. Eames looked back at him quickly, frantically, but Arthur only grabbed the backing of the chair to lift it and move it closer to the bedside. Then he settled again, not showing discomfort on his face at the feeling of the chair forcefully reshaping the curve of his spine to its liking. They were close now but still wrapped in shadows, their only light from the streetlamps outside and the sterile hallway outside the tiny private hospital room. Arthur reached to click on the lamp beside the bed but Eames grabbed his forearm.

"Don't, please."

Arthur rested his hand atop Eames' own. He let it rest there for a moment, the warmth of his own hand seeping into the chilled flesh of Eames' hand. Before too long he curled his fingers beneath the thicker ones holding him and pried them away, returning Eames' hand to the bed. The lamp clicked on and Arthur took his time observing what he could see of Eames' face. It was bad, as he knew it would be if Eames didn't want to be seen. There was a livid bruise ringing Eames' right eye, superimposed on an older, yellowing bruise, and Eames' upper lip and cheeks were split open with cuts. Some of Eames' hair had been shorn away to clear a path for five angry-looking stitches holding his temple together.

The sheets were up around Eames' shoulders, intentionally no doubt. Arthur reached for a corner of fabric and sent Eames a warning look to quiet his protests. The sheets sighed as Arthur pulled them back, audible between each beep of the machine tracking Eames' vitals. Eames was shirtless and Arthur let the sheets settle over Eames' waist. His trained eye tracked and catalogued each bruise he found across Eames' abdomen and chest. It was the bandaging around Eames' upper arm that eventually held his attention.

He tapped the pad of one finger against the bandage, feather-light. "This is new."

"A graze," Eames hedged.

Arthur pursed his lips. "Bullet or blade?"

"Blade," Eames answered.

Arthur hummed, sent his eyes lower. He could see the shape of Eames' legs beneath the sheets but he didn't look, didn't touch. "Anything lower?"

"Sprained ankle, I'd guess," Eames said uncertainly. "I remember twisting it as I ran."

Leaning his back against the chair again pushed a sigh from Arthur. "Eames, this is the third time I've had to come here in three weeks," Arthur stated the fact as if they didn't both already know. As if that wasn't why Eames had looked so surprised and embarrassed to find Arthur at his bedside in the hospital. Eames wouldn't meet his gaze or say anything. Arthur looked out the window at the overcast sky, clouds obscuring the moon. He was so incredibly tired. "I hate being your emergency contact."

Eames pulled the sheets back up to cover his bruised and bloodied body from Arthur's scrutiny. He remained silent. Arthur's frustration for the forger waxed and then waned, dulled by his exhaustion. He had been in Spain when he got the hospital call so the flight to Mombasa wasn't the longest he had endured. But he had been on a job, which meant he hadn't slept in over a day during preparation and execution. It didn't help that the week before that he had just started a job in Thailand, tarnishing his reputation when he abandoned it, and the week before that he had been in the States. Arthur was well and truly sick of airports.

"I can change it," Eames offered at last, broken and forlorn.

"Don't you dare," Arthur whispered, so harshly that Eames flinched. Eames turned his face away but Arthur still saw the tear tracks on his cheeks. "Eames," Arthur said firmly. Eames just raised his hands to cover his face, his shoulders shaking silently. "Stop that."

"I-I'm trying," Eames' voice wavered.

Arthur leaned forward to clasp Eames' wrist and pull one hand from his face. "I meant stop trying to hide from me," he explained, gentler this time. "It's okay to cry."

Eames took a shuddering breath, held it. Tried to contain his emotions until the dam broke and Eames sobbed once, loudly, and covered his mouth with his remaining palm. Arthur moved from the chair to sit on the side of the bed, hip by Eames' thigh. He didn't try to pry away Eames' other hand, allowed the larger man to muffle his sobs in the otherwise quiet room. However, Arthur did thread his fingers through the fingers of Eames' hand that he held. Arthur was exhausted, yes, and they needed to talk. But Arthur let Eames cry, because Eames needed to cry.

Arthur knew Eames had no one else to list as his emergency contact, no one else to turn to when things got hard. It surprised him when he first learned this, rooting out enough information about the forger for Arthur to feel comfortably prepared to go under with him. Eames was at ease with people, far more naturally social than Arthur could pretend to be. He had a jovial nature and was easy to smiles and jokes. Nothing seemed to faze him or weigh him down. Eames was a damn good forger; the best, if Arthur had to admit it. He did good work, took it seriously when needed, and then shrugged out of it as easily as he dropped a form in dreams.

To Arthur that seemed to be the perfect nature to cultivate friends, family; a social circle, at least. Yet there was no one in Eames' orbit and Arthur knew Eames wasn't tech savvy enough to hide anyone from Arthur's research. He had never asked Eames, deciding it wasn't his place. Arthur wasn't a social butterfly either. The only difference was that he didn't act the part in front of colleagues. It had been a shock and yet completely understandable the first time Arthur got called as Eames' emergency contact two years prior, seven months after Inception.

"You pity me," Eames bit out, voice roughened from crying and the beating he had received a few hours earlier.

Arthur's drifting focus returned to the man in the hospital bed. "I don't."

Eames sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the side table, wiping under his nose and wincing when he brushed his lip. He didn't let go of Arthur's hand. "You know you're all I've got."

"Yes," Arthur confirmed, though he didn't think that proved anything.

"You come because you have to," Eames accused. "You already said you hate it."

"Of course I hate it," Arthur scoffed. "How could I enjoy seeing you injured?"

Eames had been about to say something else but he hesitated. The tears had stopped now. "Wait, what?"

"The thing is, Eames..." Arthur paused and then committed to his decision. "You're all I've got too."

Eames was silent; completely silent. For the first time Eames looked down and seemed to register that they were holding hands. Eames tentatively held Arthur's hand more firmly, testing boundaries, and Arthur gently squeezed back. "I didn't..." Eames trailed off, disbelief on his face. _Think, hope, know_.

"I never realized it wasn't obvious," Arthur admitted. He wasn't one to flirt, granted, but you wouldn't fly across the globe three times in as many weeks for just anyone. "Eames, I have to come because I need to know you're alright. I wouldn't be anywhere else."

"I thought..." Eames was still staring at their joined hands. "I worried you would get fed up with me and stop coming."

"I _am_ fed up," Arthur told him. "You clearly lied to me the first time you said it was a random drunk fight, and the second time when you said the issue would be handled. I am fed up with seeing you covered in bruises and stitches and bandages." Arthur took a moment to breathe, maintaining his calm even though all he wanted to do was find Eames' attackers and make them regret everything. "I'm fed up with you not letting me help."

"I didn't think you would want to," Eames said.

The words hurt Arthur to hear, to know the man he cared about most didn't think Arthur was in his corner. It made Arthur more certain that he had made the right decision to come here again, to be clearer about his intentions, and to get Eames to safety. "I do want to."

Eames kept their laced hands together but lifted his other hand. It wavered in the air a few inches from Arthur's cheek for a long moment and then settled in Eames' lap. Arthur watched its progress, feeling his heart speed and then sag. "What did you have in mind?"

"Sleep, ideally," Arthur said. "The hospital won't clear you for at least a day until they're certain you only have a concussion and nothing more serious. After that we're collecting anything of yours that you value and you're coming with me to the States."

Eames' hand tensed in Arthur's grasp. "They'll be watching my place."

Arthur levelled Eames with a look. "I figured. I was doing some research on my way here. I'll do more tomorrow when I'm not dead tired." He glanced at the clock and felt his head throb. "You should try to sleep more."

"Don't leave," Eames pleaded, holding Arthur's hand between both of his own when Arthur stood up.

"I won't," Arthur promised, and then added, "ever."

Arthur turned the lamp off and settled back into his chair. He would prefer a bed or at least not something made of plastic, but Eames wouldn't relinquish his hand. Not that Arthur would leave even if Eames did let go. Eames' pursuers could still come to the hospital and Eames wasn't in a fighting state. The weight of the gun on his hip and his view of the hospital entrance from the windows were Arthur's two comforts until he could get Eames somewhere safer. Eames lay back against his pillows and Arthur turned the chair to face the side of the bed so he could rest his forearms and head on a few inches of mattress. The sheets were scratchy against his cheek but Arthur's tired body didn't mind and he closed his eyes, never letting go of Eames' hand.

Uncounted minutes passed and Arthur began to fade. Then, so quietly it could almost be mistaken as a sigh, Eames whispered, "I love you."

Eames hadn't said it for Arthur to hear so Arthur didn't lift his head or reply. But he did smile to himself against the sheets and fall asleep feeling warmer than he ever had before.

#

It took two days for Eames to be released from the hospital. All of his wounds over three weeks were compounding and the hospital staff were worried about the broken ribs Eames had received last week. There was no doubt the bones had shifted during the third attack, and Eames was only free to leave when the doctor was certain there was no risk of internal bleeding or a punctured lung. Arthur remained with Eames in his room during those two days, leaving only for brief washroom and food ventures. Eames slept frequently, his body exhausted and recovering, and Arthur filled his time with research.

He contacted Yusuf to confirm the chemist wasn't being targeted or receiving any backlash for his prior working relationship with Eames. Yusuf assured him there had been no problems for him, and that he hadn't known there had been problems for Eames either. He was grateful for the notice though and mentioned the possibility of a little vacation while things cooled down. Arthur wondered if Ariadne might soon be receiving a visitor in Paris but didn't inquire.

Getting Eames' belongings was trickier. Most things could be left, and Eames insisted he could leave everything if it meant avoiding danger, but eventually Eames admitted to a few items he'd like to save. His passport as well as his other forged passports, a small pocketbook with coded financial access details, two locked ring boxes, and a small five by seven inch photo album. Arthur lied and said he would find a way for them to go together once Eames was released, and then left the hospital when Eames was taken away for a bout of testing. He knew Eames would be furious, as worried about Arthur's safety as Arthur was about Eames' safety. Arthur determined it was worth the risk though; Eames would be easily identified and slow.

The thing about hired guards was that they were loyal to money, and Arthur had plenty of it. He paid enough to get in and out of Eames' apartment without an alarm being raised, although he knew it was only a matter of time until more money exchanged hands and his appearance was disclosed to the bigger threats. Arthur hid Eames' belongings in his bag with his laptop and slipped back into his hospital chair before Eames returned. The forger looked pleased and Arthur learned then that Eames had been cleared to leave.

The clothes Eames had arrived in were ruined by blood and torn fabric so Arthur purchased a cheap outfit from a small store in the main floor of the hospital. He told Eames his research showed that it was too risky for Eames to return to his apartment – true – and they needed to go directly to the airport. Eames didn't hesitate or question him, nodding his agreement and following Arthur into the taxi. Arthur only opened his laptop bag when they were at cruising altitude on their flight to Heathrow, where they would have a brief layover and then continue to LA.

"These are yours," he said simply and handed over a small travel bag filled with Eames' belongings.

Eames unzipped the bag and stared at the contents for a long time; long enough that Arthur got nervous. Then Eames said, "You went."

"Yes."   
  
Eames' voice dropped warningly. " _Alone_."

"Yes." Arthur didn't quite meet Eames' eye. "I didn't lie about it being safer that you not go."

Eames closed his eyes and exhaled loudly enough that Arthur could hear it over the roar of the plane. "Never put yourself at risk for me again."

Arthur weighed this request. "I can't promise that."

Eames huffed and glared at him. "Then never lie about it, at least!"

Arthur nodded and looked away. "I'm sorry."

Eames sighed again and reached over. Arthur let Eames hold his hand even though it was awkward with the armrest between them. "I worry."

"I understand," Arthur said, because he did. "I promise."

"Thank you," Eames replied, turning his attention back to the open bag, "for everything."

Arthur was very curious about the ring boxes and the album but Eames zipped the bag closed again and hugged it against his belly. Eames fell asleep like that shortly thereafter and even though Eames' grip slackened in sleep, Arthur continued to hold his hand.

#

Arthur felt oddly self conscious bringing Eames into his condo. He was almost always away for work, staying here only for layovers or short breaks before he found another job that interested him. Arthur didn't pretend to be good at socializing and between that and traveling for work he had no friends to invite over. Cobb had restarted his life after Inception too far away for any casual visit to Arthur's condo with the kids. This was Arthur's private space, never before shared with anyone else.

And this wasn't just anyone; it was Eames. The man who years prior had caught Arthur's interest with his attractive smile and impressive skill, and then irked him endlessly with jibes. The man who had stayed by his side during the dangerous times, and who listed Arthur as his emergency contact for when those dangerous times returned. The man who had whispered his love for Arthur two days earlier and didn't know Arthur had heard. 

"This is it," Arthur proclaimed awkwardly, locking the door behind them. He wasn't concerned about threats coming for them here but he was always vigilant.

"It's nice," Eames said.   
  


"But..." Arthur prompted.

Eames lifted his uninjured arm in a half-shrug. "It looks like a hotel rather than a home."

Arthur knew Eames was right, but it had never made him sad before today. "It sort of is."

"I get it, but maybe I can help make it feel a bit homier?" Eames' smile was small but hopeful, and then he seemed to realize what he was implying and he cleared his throat. "I mean, it's _your_ home, you don't have to change anything for me."

Arthur set down his laptop bag on the entryway table, took Eames' bag from his hands and set it down too. Then he carefully framed Eames' face with his palms and kissed him. Eames stood frozen for a moment and then melted into it, embracing Arthur in the warmth of his arms. Eames' moan was obscene and entirely unfair considering he was too injured for Arthur to take to bed. The noise was addictive though and Arthur tilted his head to deepen the kiss and swallow the next, longer moan. They pressed together as tightly as they dared. Eames' ribs must've ached but there were no protests.

Only when they were out of breath did Arthur lean back, relenting when Eames kept him close. Their eyes met, their lips smiling in sync. "I love you, Eames. I should've said it before now. But I'd like this to be your home too, if you want."

Arthur had never thought this moment would actually happen. He should have been nervous, but it was easier because he already knew Eames' feelings. And seeing Eames in the hospital three weeks in a row was enough to make Arthur want to intervene. Why fret halfway across the world when he could help Eames heal and share in his revenge? Not to mention those moans and the ideas they put in Arthur's head.

"Of course I want that," Eames grinned, winced as his injured lip strained, and then kept grinning. "I've loved you for years. I just thought... well, clearly I worried for nothing."

"Clearly," Arthur agreed with his own pleased smile. "Come, I'll give you a tour. We'll get you new clothes after."

The condo was spacious for one but cozy for two. Arthur knew they may want to get something bigger but that was a decision for later, tied to conversations about intentions and the future. For now he showed Eames the various rooms and the closet he could use when he owned clothes to put away. The tour unintentionally ended in the bedroom, the two of them seated on the edge of the mattress. Arthur could feel Eames' heat where their thighs were pressed together. Eames emptied his small bag of belongings onto the vanity but kept the album.

"I wanted to share these with you for a while," Eames said. His tone was hushed, reverent. Arthur accepted the album with care.

There were twenty plastic sleeves, all full with photographs. The first nineteen depicted an unassuming, happy family. In many there was a young boy with chubby cheeks and fair blond hair. The boy seemed to constantly don a mischievous smile and muddy rugby jerseys. Scattered through the photos there was also a woman with curly greying hair and crow's feet wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, a broad-shouldered man with a stern face but warm eyes, and a young girl a few years older than the boy. She had the same blond hair but sad, tired eyes.

Arthur knew them from his research, of course. Amelia, Eames' older sister. The coroner's report listed overdose as the cause of death but it was the depression that took her. And Eames' parents, their love and optimism splintered by the loss of their firstborn. Alcohol swept Eames' father away first, and cancer came to collect Eames' mother before Eames was old enough for college. Eames had been completely alone, a ship unmoored. No wonder why Eames drifted into illegal dreamwork and the escapism it offered.

Arthur spent his time studying each photo to memorize these valued memories. He felt his heart skip a beat when he flipped to the last sleeve and found a more recent memory. _Inception_. Arthur and Dom had argued about the foolishness of taking a team photograph – they were in an _illegal_ profession. Ariadne had insisted though and Arthur had relented when Eames pulled him into frame. He remembered that moment vividly; the dusty air of the warehouse, his team crowded around him, and Eames' arm around his waist. Arthur stared for a long time because he had never known Eames was looking at him instead of the camera. Eames' smile said it all, years ago. Arthur just hadn't noticed.

Eames gestured towards the album. "My family," he explained.

Eventually Arthur closed the album and rested a palm on the cover. "Yes," he acknowledged. "Thank you for sharing with me."

Eames' smile was shy but pleased. "You're welcome. There's one more thing." He took both ring boxes from the vanity, held one up. "My totem," he said and then set that box down. The other box received its combination and the lock clicked open. "This was always meant for you but I never had the courage. You don't have to accept it though."

Eames pushed the box into Arthur's hands. It was Arthur's task to lift the lid and reveal the contents. He paused for a moment, suddenly lightheaded with nerves, and then opened the box. Hugged by the velvet interior was a gold ring. The band was simple with a braided weave and it was dusty, untouched for a long time. "Is this...?" he couldn't voice the question.

"Yes and no," Eames rushed to explain. "I want a future with you, Arthur. But it's not an engagement ring per se. It's a family heirloom, passed down. My family had traditions, like any other, and we believed in soul mates. Maybe not in the cosmic sense but..." Eames shrugged, floundering for words through his nerves. "I always knew that ring was for you but figured that was coming on a bit strong," he chuckled.

"Can I put it on?" Arthur asked softly.

"Yes."

Arthur gently held the band between his thumb and index finger and slid it free of the velvet. The width fit his left middle finger best and that was where the ring found its home. "It's beautiful," Arthur said, at a loss for what else to say. "Eames—"

"I know, it's a lot," Eames raised his hands. "You don't... there's no obligation."

Arthur considered the ring for a minute. He turned his hand one way and the other, watching the light dance across gold. Arthur looked at Eames next and felt warmth fill his chest. "I just flew to Mombasa three times in three weeks," Arthur said. "I might as well get a ring out of it."

Eames laughed through his surprise. He reached for Arthur's hand and Arthur accepted it. "So I won't change my emergency contact information?"

"Don't you dare," Arthur said and used their joined hands to reel Eames forward into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on: [Tumblr](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/onewhositswiththeturtles).


End file.
